


points of common interest

by randomstorygenerator



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Pregnancy, consensual voyeurism, not quite a threesome, some very emotional hand-holding during orgasms, they're still figuring it out and tbh so am i
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 16:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20312353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomstorygenerator/pseuds/randomstorygenerator
Summary: Patroclus takes Briseis up on her offer.





	points of common interest

“What you said, before,” Patroclus murmurs to her during a lull in conversation at their hearth-fire. “Did you mean it?” For a moment, she stares at him, uncomprehending. His eyes stray meaningfully to her belly.  
  
Her heart skips a beat. “Yes,” she whispers back. “With all my heart, yes.”  
  
Patroclus presses his lips together, then says, “I must speak to Achilles.”  
  
“Of course,” she says faintly, unsure if she’s dreaming. _ No, _he’d said. He had no wish to take a wife. But he had looked so achingly thoughtful when she had… offered, but ultimately he had misunderstood. It appeared though, that he’d since understood her meaning and had considered it. Given, of course, that she isn’t dreaming right now. 

He flashes her a smile, warm and sweet as only Patroclus can be, then turns to Phoinix, leaving her to contemplate the firelight with her heart beating a frantic tattoo in her throat. 

* * *

It has been a few weeks since their whispered conversation by the hearth-fire. Neither of them are avoiding each other, but neither are they taking great pains to bring it up. Some days Briseis feels like a shield that has been hit violently with a spear, rattling her all the way out of her own skin. 

Briseis is passing the medical tent on her way to another errand when she is hailed by Patroclus, ducking out from under the tent flap. 

  
“Briseis!” he calls, and she pivots immediately. “I’m sorry — I don’t know when I will next have a spare moment so I thought I would speak with you now.” He looks around nervously. “Two days from now, on the festival day. Will you — I mean, is that — ”

So she hadn’t been dreaming after all. 

She takes pity on him and gives him an easy smile that belies her own nervousness. “Yes, that is perfect.”  
  
He towers over her, like all of the men in this camp. Only, unlike the rest of them, he never looms over her, never uses his height to crowd her space. He simply stands, and looks at her with those warm brown eyes. In the sun they are shot through with gold.  
  
She feels a hot stab of envy for Achilles. She does not ask how his conversation with Achilles went, although she has to clamp her lips shut to stay quiet.  
  
“Then,” he says, “I will see you at our tent after supper. Two days hence.”  
  
“Two days hence,” she agrees, and to her surprise he takes her hand and lifts it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there. He doesn’t seem to care about the onlookers — and anyway, some of them would be relieved by the sight. It hurts her to think about it.  
  
“Thank you,” he says, and as before, she can only nod. She watches him duck back into the medical tent, then walks away, glancing furtively behind her every few minutes. No one calls out to her, but she spends the next few days skittish as a new cat anyway. 

* * *

She does not join Patroclus and Achilles and old Phoinix at their hearth-fire for supper on the day. Instead she accepts one of her women’s invitations to join her and her new Greek husband at their hearth-fire. The food is delicious, although her stomach roils with such anticipation — nervousness? — that she fears she would throw up each bite.  
  
Time passes slowly, but finally she deems it appropriate to make her way to Patroclus and Achilles’ tent. She has prepared herself for this. She washed in the stream, scrubbing her skin thoroughly and dabbing scented oils along her pulse points. She is wearing her best clothes and she has pinned up her hair in such a way that it falls in alluring waves around her face.  
  
Her friend had teased her, wanting to know who was courting her, but she had played coy and said nothing. She arrives at Patroclus and Achilles’ tent and pauses just outside, taking a deep breath. She lifts the tent flap and stops short. Patroclus is not there, but Achilles is a sullen golden shadow in the corner.  
  
She opens her mouth to speak, but he cuts her off.  
  
“I agreed to this,” he says, “on the condition that I be present.”  
  
Briseis herself has no experience with taking a lover who loves another man, so she says only, “I see.”  
  
“Patroclus would like to have a child,” Achilles says. “I have one. I am not interested in having another. But... Patroclus does not ask for much. I would like to see him happy.”  
  
“As do I,” she says, entering further into the tent.  
  
“Then we will have no quarrel with each other,” _ Aristos Achaion _ says, but his narrowed eyes say otherwise. Briseis fights back a sigh. She finds his possessiveness of Patroclus tiresome at best and downright infuriating at worst.  
  
“Are you joining us?” she asks, keeping her tone light.  
  
Achilles almost scowls, but schools his features in time. “I’ve had women. They’re not to my taste.” He clears his throat. “I am here for Patroclus.”  
  
“Has he been with a woman before?”  
  
“Only once.”  
  
Mischief opens Briseis’ mouth. “Was it the same woman who birthed your child?”  
  
To her astonishment, Achilles flushes. “It was not like that,” he begins furiously, then folds his arms and looks away.  
  
She fights down the urge to laugh. She’s always tiptoeing around Achilles — it is nice to catch him off guard for once. With that, her nervousness dissipates.  
  
The tent flap rustles, and Patroclus enters. Achilles drops his arms immediately, although the tension remains. Patroclus goes to him and presses an easy kiss to his lips, the turns to Briseis almost nervously. 

“Are you all right with Achilles being here?” 

Briseis pauses, and considers. Achilles’ eyes narrow on her, but she is not cowed by his glare. She flicks a strand of hair away from her shoulder as if unconcerned, and simply says, “Yes.”  
  
Patroclus rewards her with a shy smile. “Shall we?” 

* * *

Sex for Briseis, at least in the years before the war, had always been easy, full of laughter and love. In the years at camp she had taken a few lovers among the Myrmidons, never for longer than two, perhaps three, nights. There had been no love, but She had had a husband, before. Achilles and his men had cut him down in front of her before turning their swords and spears to her neighbors. Now that same man watches from the shadows as she attempts to conceive a child with his lover.  
  
If she thinks about it for too long, her head will explode.  
  
She maneuvers Patroclus to the large bed he and Achilles share and sits him down on the edge. “You are too stiff,” she says. “Achilles said you’d been with a woman before.”  
  
Patroclus aims a look of naked betrayal over her shoulder. She looks and sees Achilles shrug and spread his hands in a gesture of innocence.  
  
“Did you want me to lie?” he asks. It is clearly a well-loved refrain between the two of them. 

Patroclus snorts, rolling his eyes, and focuses on Briseis again. “Yes but... it was not like it is with Achilles.”  
  
“This should be just like it is with Achilles,” she tells him, and feels rather than sees him bristle behind her. “Pleasurable. Exciting. Fun.”  
  
Patroclus continues to look at her with combined nervousness and skepticism, and she rolls her eyes and pushes him so that he is leaning back on two arms. “You clearly like both men and women,” she says. “Not all women are the same. Let me show you how it could be.”  
  
She lifts up her skirt and straddles him, smoothing her hands over his strong, well-built shoulders. “Relax,” she murmurs in his ear. “Let me show you.”  
  
In Greece and in Troy it was frowned upon for women to take the lead in lovemaking. They were meant to lie back and let their husbands do the work. Briseis had found it more pleasurable to take charge. Her husband had agreed with her, and the few Myrmidons she’d taken to bed found it exciting because it was forbidden. She trusts Patroclus to have the same attitude.

She tilts Patroclus’ chin up, drinking in his high cheekbones, his sharp jawline, his lush, reddening mouth. His hair curls dark like ink over palms as she slides her fingers through it. His body is taut against hers, and she thumbed the fullness of his lower lip before leaning down to catch it in a kiss.  
  
His mouth opens eagerly under hers, tongue sliding into her mouth with practiced ease. She hums in satisfaction and sucks on his lower lip, and he lets out a moan.  
  
There is a shocked intake of breath from Achilles. 

_ There, _ she thinks to herself. _ Jealous? You’re not the only one who can make him feel this way. _  
  
She slides her hands down the defined planes of Patroclus’ body, hardened from years of war. His own hands begin creeping up her back, tracing intricate figures across the sensitive skin. She moans into his mouth, writhing in his lap. Her hands find their way under his tunic, her nails scoring his skin. Patroclus breaks the kiss to press fevered kisses along her neck and jaw.  
  
“Undress me,” she whispers.  
  
Obediently his hands fall to the knot of her chiton, tugging the cloth easily. When the fabric pools around her waist, he undoes her belt and the cloth falls away. Patroclus pauses, hesitant, as she sits fully naked on his lap. She can feel the slickness between her legs and wonders if he can feel it too, through his own clothes.  
  
Briseis takes Patroclus’ hands and brings them to her breasts. He cups them, gently, the calluses on his fingers grazing her nipples. She leans back as far as she can, pushing her breasts up.  
  
“Lick them,” she says.  
  
Hesitantly, Patroclus lowers his head and takes her nipple into his mouth. She sighs, twining her fingers into his hair.  
  
“Like that?” he asks, lips spit-slick and gorgeous.  
  
“_Yes_,” she moans. Patroclus gains more confidence. He leans her backwards, one hand splayed on her back for balance, and she tips her head back far enough to meet Achilles’ shocked gaze.  
  
_ Aristos Achaion_. His mouth is open. His eyes wide. His face flushed. He’s standing there, his hands curling and uncurling into fists.  
  
“Tell me what he likes,” she says to him, then moans as Patroclus closes his lips around her nipple and sucks.  
  
Achilles’ mouth snaps shut and he swallows. “He likes for his neck to be kissed.”  
  
“Show me,” she says, and though she hates for it to stop, she cups Patroclus’ face and lifts his head away from her breast.  
  
“His pulse point,” Achilles rasps, voice grown hoarse with desire.  
  
She sets her teeth to the vein thrumming in Patroclus’ throat and he gasps, eyes fluttering shut. “Please,” he says.  
  
“Please what?” Briseis asks.  
  
“More,” Patroclus whispers.  
  
Briseis obliges. She sucks kisses into Patroclus’ neck and cuts her lips on his jawline. Patroclus clutches at her waist and begs for more.  
  
“Touch his back,” Achilles says. “Lightly, from his nape all the way down.”  
  
“Take off your tunic,” she tells Patroclus. He hurries to comply, and once the garment is cast aside she spreads her legs, settles herself more fully astride him, riding the hard length of him, hot against her.  
  
As Achilles suggested her fingers score thin lines of sensation from Patroclus’ nape to the small of his back, and he arches into her, gasping her name.  
  
She enjoys that, so she does it again.  
  
“Briseis, _ please_,” Patroclus begs. She wants to be mischievous, to tease him and ask again, _ Please what? _ but she also wants to _ see. _  
  
“Lie back,” she says.  
  
Patroclus is stunning, laid out on the sheets. She kneels up over him, lets his eyes rove over her body while hers devour him in turn. His olive skin, set off against the white sheets, gleams in the torchlight. His muscles, while not as big as some of the other soldiers’ (Ajax in particular springs to mind), are nonetheless nicely defined and give his body a lithe, graceful look. His cock curves against his stomach prettily, and she likes the look of it: not too long but still thick enough to satisfy her. She can’t wait to get her mouth on it.  
  
“Achilles,” she calls. “Won’t you come here? Is he not beautiful?”  
  
“Do not tell me what to do,” comes the reply, but Achilles comes to stand beside the bed anyway. “His beauty outshines the sun,” he says softly, and his eyes are hot with desire as they come to rest upon Patroclus.  
  
Patroclus flushes. “Both of you are more beautiful than I,” he says shyly. “Beyond a doubt.” His hair splays in boyish curls on the bed.  
  
_ Best of the Myrmidons_, Briseis thinks fondly, and leans down to kiss Patroclus again. Their mouths slip against each other before Briseis slides down, down, pressing kisses down his neck. She takes Patroclus’ nipple in her mouth, laving it with the tip of her tongue. Patroclus arches his back, but his moan is suddenly muffled. Achilles, unable to help himself any longer, has bent down over the bed to claim Patroclus’ mouth in a devouring, possessive kiss.  
  
Briseis straightens up and so does Achilles. He looks satisfied. Patroclus looks dazed — and she realizes, with a flash like a bolt of lightning from Zeus himself, that she no longer wants to make it a game between Achilles and herself. Patroclus was not a thing to be fought over, and besides, together it was possible for them to make him happier than they could have ever dreamed.  
  
Briseis presses a repentant kiss to Patroclus’ cheek and takes his hand, guiding it to the wetness between her legs. Patroclus’ mouth drops open as two, then three of his fingers slip inside her, and Briseis throws her head back in a moan.  
  
“Thrust them in and out,” she tells him. “Slowly.”  
  
Mesmerized, Patroclus slides his fingers almost all the way out before pushing them back in, and Briseis shudders, hips rocking back and forth. Her knees are shaking.  
  
“You are so _ wet _ ,” Patroclus marvels. She smiles at him, then reaches down and pushes a finger inside herself alongside his — there’s a sharp intake of breath — then pulls it out, glistening.  
  
“Would you like a taste?” she asks, holding the finger to his lips. Without hesitation, Patroclus sucks her finger into his mouth, eyes dark on hers. His mouth is so soft. Achilles hisses, a soft, angry noise.  
  
Patroclus reaches out his hand; she is still fucking herself slowly on his other hand. He twines his fingers with Achilles’. “You wanted to be here,” he reminds him softly.  
  
“He’s right,” Briseis agrees breathlessly, earning her a dark look from Achilles. Uncaring, she lifts herself up a little, letting Patroclus’ fingers slip out of her. He whines at the loss. “I wish to try something,” she tells him.  
  
She scoots up and lowers herself over him, hovering just above his mouth. She meets his shocked eyes, and wonders just what he and Achilles get up to in bed, that he still seems like a blushing virgin.  
  
“It is only because you are a woman, and so bold,” Patroclus says, flushing, and she realizes she has spoken aloud.  
  
“Never mind that now,” she says. “Kiss me there like you would my mouth.”  
  
Patroclus hesitates, then applies himself to the task with a skill that makes her gasp and grab onto the sheets with sudden urgency. She meets Achilles’ eyes, hot on hers, and not for the first time, fully realizes what it means for him to be a half-god. His eyes are hot, molten emerald on hers, and she can almost feel her skin searing from the heat of his gaze. 

She opens her mouth to speak, but jerks when Patroclus reaches up to part her lips, the flat of his tongue dragging up and down, licking up every drop of wet from within her. Achilles’ eyes flash.  
  
“Higher,” she gasps, then reaches down to grip his hair and pull. He keens.  
  
“He enjoys that,” Achilles says, and she startles, her grasp on Patroclus’ hair slips. “Pull harder.” She can see Achilles’ cock where it’s tenting the front of his chiton. His hands are fists beneath his folded arms, stubbornly ignoring his own arousal. _ Interesting. _  
  
She does.  
  
Patroclus moans into her cunt, fingers digging into her thigh.  
  
“Higher,” she says — begs. “To your left.... left..... there, _ gods_, Patroclus, _ do not stop_.”  
  
He doesn’t. He licks and sucks at her clit, following her instructions, until she cries out, climaxing on his mouth. Orgasm crashes like waves through her body, again and again, and she screws her eyes shut and _ howls _ with pleasure.  
  
Patroclus looks stunned as she climbs off him, mouth slick with her cum.  
  
She bends down and licks at his mouth. He whimpers.  
  
“Your turn,” she says, and moves down to lick at the tip of his cock.  
  
“Oh gods,” he moans, and his hand shoots out to grasp Achilles’. Briseis would have been offended had she not been aroused by the satisfaction on Achilles’ face. It was that of a god who was about to get what he wanted.  
  
It’s true. She meets his gaze. “Instruct me,” she says. “Let us see him happy.”  
  
Smugness passes over Achilles’ features, along with something unidentifiable. “There is a vein on the underside of his cock,” he says, precise in his knowledge of his lover. “He loves it when you lick it.”  
  
She finds the vein, drags the flat of her tongue along it like Patroclus did with her earlier. Patroclus arches up, moaning.  
  
“Now suck the tip,” Achilles says. His hand is under his chiton now, fisting his own cock.  
  
Briseis obeys. Her lips close over Patroclus’ cock as she meets his gaze. His eyes are almost black, and she feels a rush of wetness between her legs once more. She worms a hand underneath her body to touch herself. Patroclus sees what she is doing and moans aloud again, head falling back.  
  
“Can you take all of him in your mouth?” Achilles says. Briseis doesn’t answer, just lets Patroclus slip down her throat until her nose is touching the hair at his groin.  
  
“Good,” Achilles says, sounding satisfied. “Let him fuck your mouth.”  
  
“B- Briseis,” Patroclus stammers. “May I?”  
  
She nods, closes her eyes as Patroclus slowly, slowly, pumps in and out of her mouth. Her fingers work her clit, and she moans, deep in her throat.  
  
Patroclus gasps, and his pace quickens. The tip of his cock is hitting the back of her throat, forcing tears from her eyes, but her name is spilling from his lips like benediction. He looks wrecked and she thinks, _ I did that _ . We _ did that. _ Satisfaction curls deep in her belly.  
  
Achilles looks on intently, his hand moving steadily up and down his cock. He’s watching Patroclus’ face. “He is about to finish,” he says suddenly, and so Briseis pulls off Patroclus’ cock with a pop. Patroclus whines.  
  
“We are trying to have a child, are we not?” she reminds him lightly, voice hoarse. She straddles him once more, taking hold of his cock to guide it carefully inside her.  
  
Patroclus groans, and once she’s fully seated, Briseis kisses him, hard and bruising. His cock fills her up perfectly, and she can’t think beyond the desire to ride him until they both collapsed.  
  
Her hips move, urgently, setting the pace. Patroclus groans, thrusting up to meet her. She cries out with each thrust, face buried in his neck. His hand comes up to clutch at her hair, and pulls her face back to meet him in a kiss.  
  
She gasps, wrenching back from the kiss to gulp a breath of air, and manages a glance at Achilles. He is watching Patroclus intently. Not a single muscle twitches as he watches them fuck savagely on the bed.  
  
“Take her from behind,” he says suddenly, and Briseis moans at the thought.

“A _ wonderful _ idea,” she gasps.  
  
She slips off Patroclus and positions herself, her ass in the air and legs spread open so that no part of her is hidden. Patroclus sits up and runs a hand over her thigh, lets a finger trail up her cunt. She can feel herself dripping onto the sheets.  
  
“You’re beautiful,” Patroclus says.  
  
“Do it, Patroclus,” Achilles says. Patroclus’ name in his mouth sounds like _ come on _ .  
  
“Come, Patroclus,” she says urgently. “Take me, _ fuck _ me, please, plant your seed in me and get me with child — ”  
  
Patroclus lines himself up and slides into her in a single hard thrust. She almost screams.  
  
“Harder,” she begs. “Fuck me open, Patroclus, please, yes, _ yes _ — ” Her forehead falls to the bed, words spilling from her mouth with each thrust.  
  
“Briseis,” Patroclus is babbling now, like she is, fingers viselike around her hips and fucking into her so hard the bed jolts with each thrust. “Briseis, Briseis, Briseis — ”  
  
Briseis imagines him, brow furrowed, lush lips parted, the muscles of his abdomen flexing with each thrust, his entire body sheened with sweat — his dark eyes, intent on her.  
  
Without warning her climax engulfs her, and she buries her face in the sheets as she rides it out, screaming, thighs shaking with the exertion. If not for Patroclus holding her hips, she would have collapsed there.  
  
Patroclus’ thrusts are becoming more erratic, losing his rhythm as he too approaches his climax. He chants her name, over and over, and she begs him to fuck her, harder, _ harder, _ until with a groan he thrusts inside her, his grip on her hips going all the way to painful. She imagines him spilling inside her, filling her up, and wants to come all over again.  
  
He pulls out of her and turns her over before collapsing beside her. She turns her head and caresses his face. His eyes are closed but he smiles and leans into her palm. Her heart gives an unlovely thud. She feels it all the way to her core. 

Achilles does not give her time to savor the moment. 

Without a word he places one knee on the bed and reaches for Patroclus, pulling him closer. He bends down and kisses Patroclus, who moans and opens for him, letting Achilles’ tongue slip into his mouth. Achilles’ fingers trail down past Patroclus’ stomach, the thick patch of hair at his groin, down further where Patroclus’ legs part eagerly for him. 

“You already - ” Patroclus pants against Achilles’ lips. 

“Of course,” Achilles murmurs, impossibly tender. 

Briseis thinks that she should look away, but she cannot. 

Slowly, Achilles slides down to mouth at Patroclus’ neck, hands moving over his lover’s body. He climbs fully onto the bed, braced over Patroclus as Patroclus holds him, fingers locked fast on the small of his back. 

“Are you happy, now?” Achilles teases, nipping lightly at Patroclus’ shoulder. 

Patroclus shudders, then smiles widely. “Yes,” he whispers. “Thank you.” 

Achilles sighs, contentedly. He rests his face on Patroclus’ chest. “Patroclus, please — ”

Patroclus presses a kiss to the top of Achilles head, then takes Achilles’ cock in his hand. Achilles whines. 

“Later,” Patroclus promises, cupping Achilles’ cheek. “Later, when I’m ready.” 

Achilles sighs again, and lets Patroclus maneuver him down onto the bed. Briseis shifts over slightly to make room, and Patroclus leans over to give her a soft kiss. They smile at each other before Achilles reaches up to grasp Patroclus’ chin and tug him down for a kiss as well. Patroclus laughs into his mouth and pulls away. 

“Be nice,” he admonishes, and Achilles pouts. 

“Be _ nice _, Achilles,” Briseis echoes, and Achilles shoots her a dark look that is undercut when he suddenly moans and arches up, because Patroclus has taken Achilles’ cock into his mouth. Briseis snorts. When Patroclus looks up and shoots her a look full of laughter, with his mouth full of cock, her breath catches. It’s a beautiful, filthy sight, and she feels a rush of wetness between her legs once again.

Achilles slides a hand into Patroclus’ hair and _ pulls. _ Patroclus closes his eyes and moans. The sounds his mouth is making as he sucks Achilles’ cock are _ obscene. _His gaze is scorching as his mouth slides down, taking Achilles in deeper.

Mouth dry, Briseis leans in closer to Achilles. “How do you stand it?” she whispers, hoping Patroclus doesn’t hear her. 

Achilles has his head thrown back, the cords on his neck standing out. “I _ don’t _ ,” he mutters harshly. He doesn’t look at her — his eyes are screwed shut. “I don’t. I _ can’t _.” 

“What are you two whispering about?” Patroclus asks, pulling off Achilles’ cock. 

Briseis props her head up on her hand. “How beautiful you are,” she tells him, teasing only a little. 

“And how you should continue,” Achilles says hoarsely. Patroclus raises an eyebrow at him. “_ Please, _” Achilles begs. “Please, darling.” His hand tightens in Patroclus’ hair. 

“When you put it like that,” Patroclus says faintly. His lips brush against the tip of Achilles’ cock, pulling a gasp from him. Wrapping a hand around Achilles’ length, Patroclus sucks gently at the tip while moving his hand up and down in a practiced, twisting motion that quickly has Achilles shuddering, fingers twining tight through Patroclus’ hair. 

Mesmerized, Briseis moves closer, watching Patroclus’ gaze focus, hot and intense, on Achilles, who’s looking down at his lover with something like a helpless fondness. Before, Briseis thought the young half-god wore his heart on his face for everyone to see. His satisfaction, his displeasure, his fury… Achilles is well-versed in subterfuge but he prefers the honesty of battle, and it translates to his demeanor in the camps. But the look he has on his face now is nothing like the Achilles Briseis knows. He seems cracked open in a way she has never seen before — emanating raw tenderness and adoration in the way he cups Patroclus’ jaw, the way his fingers brush over Patroclus’ skin, the way he _ looks _at Patroclus, like Patroclus is the answer to a question Achilles has been asking for a very long time. 

Briseis thinks that she should look away, but she finds that she cannot. 

Patroclus’ eyes blink open, fastening on Achilles. “_ Close, _I’m close,” Achilles whispers, ragged. It seems like he’s forgotten Briseis is even here. 

Achilles comes with a choked gasp. His hand is pulling on Patroclus’ hair so hard that it must hurt, but Patroclus’ eyes just flutter closed and he seems to sigh as Achilles empties himself into his mouth. His hand finds Briseis’ and holds on tight. 

Her mouth drops open in shock, but she says nothing and grips back equally tightly. 

Patroclus drops one last kiss on Achilles’ belly, then looks over and sees their interlocked fingers. A soft look passes over his face that only Briseis sees. Achilles’ eyes have drifted shut. 

“That was…” Briseis trails off, unable to find the words. 

Patroclus nods in understanding. “Yes,” he says simply, and drops down between her and Achilles. Achilles curls into him unthinkingly, eyes still closed, and Patroclus shoots Briseis a glance. 

“Come,” he says, lifting up his other arm. Not a little bewildered, Briseis moves over and lets Patroclus cuddle her close. His arm curves over her shoulder and she breathes in the comforting smell of him — of the three of them. Her arm settles around Patroclus’ stomach. Achilles has a hand splayed on his chest. 

“Briseis,” Achilles says, sounding sleepy. A quick glance shows that he still has his eyes closed. “Do not mistake this for _ friendship. _” 

Patroclus snorts, and Briseis fights down a grin. “I won’t,” she promises around a yawn, her own eyes fluttering closed.

They sleep. 

* * *

Briseis’ brow furrows. 

“You don’t have to,” she tries. 

Patroclus quirks his mouth at her and rubs circles around her distended stomach. She loves him, but she is starting to hate that touch. Both she and Patroclus are sweaty and sticky from the noonday sun, and the heat is becoming maddening.

Beside her, Achilles snorts. It’s an inelegant sound, and to hear it come from a half-god is _ hilarious_, but Briseis knows better than to point it out. Besides, he looks irritatingly fresh, and there’s a small part of her that wants to tackle him into the mud. “Let him. It’s easier.” 

Now she _ really _ wants to tackle him. Let _ Aristos Achaion _ himself wrestle a pregnant woman to the ground, and find the glory in _ that. _

“Phoinix can—” she begins. 

“Phoinix can assist,” Patroclus says. “I can deliver my own son.” 

“You don’t know it’s a son,” she tells him impatiently. “And besides. I don’t want you there.” 

Patroclus blinks, straightens. He’s obviously startled. “Why not?” 

“Because if _ you’re _ there, Achilles will be there and that’s too many people already!” Briseis almost, _ almost _snaps. 

Achilles blanches, and starts shaking his head. “No,” he says vehemently. “No, I was there when Deidameia gave birth. I have no intentions of repeating that experience.” 

Now it’s Patroclus’ turn to furrow his brow. “I’ve seen you decapitate a man,” he says. “You’re not telling me you’re scared of watching a woman give birth?” 

“Once,” Achilles says firmly, “was enough.” 

Briseis laughs, despite herself. Achilles’ palpable discomfort amused her to no end. She and Achilles have reached a truce, of sorts, and things between them have eased, especially when she and Patroclus conceived a few months after they began their… arrangement. She has been sleeping in their tent for months now, all three of them curling around her growing belly. 

Achilles shoots her a hunted look, then surprises her by taking her hand and placing their intertwined fingers on her belly when Patroclus stands up and wanders off, muttering under his breath about bandages. 

“I have no wish to be there when you give birth,” he says quietly. His tone is so gentle that she knows he means no offense. “But let Patroclus be there. He wants this very much. I say we give it to him. After all,” he pauses, “this is his child, too.” 

She is still not used to Achilles speaking to her as an equal, despite sharing his bed and his lover for months now. They have each learned to be more open and vulnerable with the other, and between them Patroclus is in the full bloom of happiness. 

She gives in to the earnestness of Achilles’ tone and sighs, nodding. “All right,” she says. “Patroclus will assist me during the birthing.” 

Achilles’ lips curve in a small, but satisfied, smile. “Good,” he says, then looks up just as Patroclus’ shadow falls over him. “It is decided,” he tells Patroclus, whose eyes light up. Briseis decides, perhaps for the hundredth time, that she will never get tired of that expression. 

Patroclus reaches down and takes their still interlocked fingers, dropping a kiss on each of their palms. “Thank you,” he says. 

Briseis smiles and tips her head back, letting an incoming breeze sift through her hair and relieve the heat on her skin. She closes her eyes and feels Patroclus leave a soft kiss on her lips — beside her, a soft smack confirms he has done the same for Achilles. 

All shall be well. 

**Author's Note:**

> There is wailing and gnashing of teeth over Song of Achilles on my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/partiallystars).


End file.
